The Seven Seals
by The Other Sara
Summary: Alternate canon in which the events of the first game had not occurred. The Seven Seals have been stolen. All of Creation readies their weapons in preparation for the worst. The Charred Council sends forth their servants and the Four Horsemen to prevent an untimely apocalypse. The clock is ticking. Rated M for mostly graphic violence and swearing.
1. Time is unpredictable

Time is unpredictable.

Anything can happen at any moment, regardless of what you might expect.

But more than once has fate been defied by those tenacious enough to do so.

And from these moments, the timeline was split in two, creating a second. And a third. And so on.

There are different realities because of it; all of them full of "what ifs" and "what could have beens".

This story takes place in one of them, created from shortly before a moment that would have wiped out an entire civilization and shatter the Balance.

For if it were to continue on its current path, it very well might have.

So if it was prevented, what sort of future does this timeline hold?

Who knows?

Time is unpredictable, after all.


	2. Prologue

**Author's note:** This is an alternate timeline where the apocalypse didn't happen. I wasn't sure how Abaddon, Azrael and Ulthane got the Seven Seals, so I just sort of made it up.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

The angel moved carefully and silently through the dark halls. The enormous statues of menacing armored beings lined up perfectly along the walls would have been unnerving to most in his position, but not to him. Even then, he had better things to worry about. He gripped the strap of his pack tightly. The contents inside were not only of utmost importance, and due to being metallic in nature, the angel did not want to drop them and cause too much noise; these halls had a lot of echo to them. The guards were distracted by the series of diversions he had set up earlier, which gave him enough time to break into the temple's vaults. However, the closer he got to completing his mission, the more he had come to realize that they were returning to their posts. It was only a matter of time before they figure out that they had been played for fools.

Their chattering grew louder the further he proceeded. The angel began to glide quicker. He would make a serpent hole where he was, but the guards would sense its magical energies. The angel couldn't afford to be caught now, nor place his lord's life in jeopardy. He was so close to completing his mission.

But he felt a sudden pressure in the air. The angel did not stop, but he did slow. He knew that pressure — a serpent hole had been opened. But by who? Certainly, it couldn't have been one of the Charred Council's guards or one of his brethren. A moment later, the angel had sensed something else; something he and the rest of his brethren inherently _despised_. The angel's free hand move to the short sword on his back. He wanted to avoid a fight for the mission's sake, but his instincts told him otherwise. It was in his very nature to combat demons.

The demon, a scrawny and agile figure in a dark cloak that concealed most of their features, leaped from the shadows and tackled the angel. The two slammed into one of the cold stone walls as the angel's pack, which had been dislodged from his grip, collapsed to the floor. The angel pushed the demon off and unsheathed his short sword. He took the opportunity to leap up, lunge and swing horizontally at the demon's torso. However, the latter had regained their footing just in time to back step. Though blade connected, a stream of blood splashing the floor, but it was not a killing blow. But it was enough to hurt. The demon grunted and reached for a concealed weapon of their own. Voices rang out from the distance, no doubt alarmed by the opening of the serpent hole.

 _Damn it all._ the angel thought.

The demon struck first. They threw two daggers black as a starless night with burning red runes carved into it. But when the angel went to duck, they realized too late that their intended target wasn't himself but the statue behind him. The dagger exploded and the statue began to topple. The demon darted towards the pack. The angel would have flown after them, but the statue gave him no time to react. Instead, he caught it, his own innate strength being the only thing standing between him and getting crushed. With the bag in hand, the demon fled. Again, he sensed another serpent hole opening and closing.

 _Damn it all!_

The voices of the temple guards grew louder as they drew near. The angel swore inwardly in his native tongue. He had no choice… He threw the statue to the ground, creating a barrier between himself and the guards. He turned and poured his energies in making a serpent hole for himself. And just when his would-be captors were close enough, he was gone.

* * *

Upon exiting the Serpent Hole, the angel raced through the sky towards a series of magnificent golden structures, all identical and adjacent to one another in a single perfect row. Elysium — a realm with nothing but endless fields of grass; one of many worlds that made up the border of Heaven's territories. It was here that the angel was to report, though he was not looking forward to announcing his failure. When he was close enough, he touched down to the ground in front of the incandescent ivory gates of what was considered the "central" fortress. After introducing himself, several of his brethren looked from over the wall walk and shouted for the gates to be opened.

He tread across the bailey and into the enormous alabaster halls of the fortress. The angel walked at a quick but steady pace, not even stopping to acknowledge the other soldiers that saluted him as he passed. Indeed, he did not stop until he approached a set of doors at the back of the structure, nearly as tall as the gates he had passed through outside. Ornate carvings covered them from the head casing to the still. And standing guard in front of them as if they too were among the artwork, were two veteran warriors — no doubt, members of the Hellguard, since their master was to be among them — fully clad in bulky golden armor and wielding halberds taller than themselves.

"I'm here to report my mission." the angel muttered, trying to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

"His lordship is currently occupied," replied one of the guards. "But we will announce you."

The other guard gave two knocks on the door before cracking it open and sticking his head through to speak to the person inside. While waiting, the angel removed his helmet, revealing his long hair that was the standard platinum tied up in a bun and bronze skin that every angel possessed. Tucking it under his arm, he rehearsed what he would say to his lord in his head. It was one thing to fail a mission, but for _demons_ to be the reason, especially while the treaties made between Heaven and Hell were still in tact? Something wasn't right.

The wait wasn't long. Out of the room came a woman whose armor appeared different than the other angels he had seen. It matched his in color, deep blue, dark gray and black, but was far more ornate in design. She wore no helmet, her short platinum hair and chiseled face for all to see. The angel knew her very well. In fact, for all intents and purposes, this was his commanding officer: Eremiel, General of the Dusk Corps. He bowed his head, which she responded with a slight nod before continuing on her way.

"Come in, Sergeant." called a new voice from the room.

The sergeant inhaled softly before striding in. The doors closed behind him, leaving him in a wide room colored the same as the halls outside. Stone pillars lined up neatly along the long silver rug, leading to a throne made of ivory-hued hardwood. And sitting upon the throne, was Abaddon, the one the angel needed to report to. The angel lowered himself on one knee and bowed.

"Osmodiel," Abaddon greeted. "I trust your mission was a success?"

A pause.

"My lord," the angel, Osmodiel, responded, keeping his gaze to the floor. "I… I have failed."

"What?"

He heard Abaddon rise from his throne.

"Did the guardians see you?!"

"No, my lord. But I was intercepted by another party…"

"Who?"

Osmodiel inhaled.

"Demons."

Another pause. Osmodiel continued.

"They had no emblem on their armor. I could not identify who their master was. I suspect they may have been mercenaries. Whoever they work for, they have the Seven Seals in their possession."

At that moment, Osmodiel looked up to meet Abaddon's gaze. The great general, normally so unshakable, appeared to be in shock. He slumped back down into his throne. Had Osmodiel known any better, he could have sworn he murmured to himself the phrase "There is no way they could have known.". But it wasn't Osmodiel's place to question his superiors; he knew better. Besides, it was the Dusk Corps' duty to take on tasks that many of his people would consider… _controversial_.

"What should we do, my lord?" Osmodiel finally asked.

As if drawn out of a daydream, Abaddon looked back to Osmodiel and quickly regained his composure. Silence was between them once again, but it had appeared the the general had made a decision.

* * *

The first thing War noticed when he arrived in the court of the Charred Council, was the number of people inside. As he ascended the last bit of stairs, his white eyes darted between each of the servants, an odd mesh of different races, from the unsurprisingly few angels and demons to old ones of all varieties. In all of the millennia War had served the Council, he had never seen so many people in the sanctum at once. Most of them he was familiar with, others he either didn't know or had no interest in doing so. But he recognized from each of their uniforms and equipment their professions; all of them were either warriors or spies in some capacity.

The second thing he noticed was the turbulent discontent amongst them. Their shouts and bickering echoed throughout the area, each of their words indistinguishable from the others. And if they weren't bickering, they were keeping quiet, but appeared to be on edge. The Charred Council was, uncharacteristically, one of the latter.

And if that fact alone did not cause the Red Rider concern, the third thing did. Also present were his older brothers and sister –– Death, Strife and Fury. Strife was one of those arguing with the other servants. Fury had kept silent, her glare icier than usual. Death was obviously trying to avoid bickering, but ended up getting dragged into it anyway, though not as aggressively as Strife, who looked ready to pulled out his prized pistols, Mercy and Redemption, and be done with it.

Things were serious enough when the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse were all summoned at once. But the presence of both the Four _and_ the Charred Council's warriors and spies?

 _Something is wrong…_ War thought.

The three monstrous stone idols that made up the façade of the Charred Council came alive the moment he entered.

"War!" the center idol roared. "You are late!"

The bickering was replaced with deafening silence as they spoke. They turned to face War. Some greeted him with an appropriate amount of respect (if one would call anxiousness respect), while others greeted him with dirty looks. The other Horsemen merely nodded, a gesture War returned. Regardless of their feelings towards them, any lesser servant that stood in the Horseman's path stepped aside. War took his place alongside his siblings and gave a slight bow.

"Forgive the delay."

Once more, he glanced between the other servants and his brethren.

"Why have I –– have _we_ –– been summoned?"

This time, the left head of the Charred Council spoke.

"As we have announced before your arrival, earlier today, the Temple of Balance had been infiltrated."

This came as a surprise to War, who was not so easily surprised. The Temple of Balance was a place where powerful artifacts were kept under the Charred Council's watchful eye. The place was heavily guarded day and night, by guardians and wards, among other things. Whoever broke in, must have been planning this heist for _weeks_.

"The Seven Seals have been stolen."

War's brow raised.

"Impossible!" he nearly shouted.

"It _would_ have been impossible," Strife snapped. "If the captain of the guard wasn't so incompetent!"

"Yes!" a spy chimed in. "And no one has seen the rat bastard since the incident!"

"Captain Eovor would do no such thing!" argued one of the warriors. "He has no reason to! He is just as loyal to the Charred Council and the Balance as the rest of us are!"

"But that doesn't explain his disappea––"

"Enough!" the center head roared.

In a flash of orange light, a set of armor dropped before everyone, forcing silence upon them once more. The specific details were hard to make out, except that it was completely black. Given that War had seen Captain Eovor and his armor before, he didn't need to be told what happened to him.

"Eovor has been relieved of duty and replaced." the right head spoke.

"This is a task none of you can handle alone," the center head continued. "Hunt down these perpetrators, all of you! Bring them before us, so that they may suffer by our hand. And be sure that not a single one of the Seals is broken!"

As the left head continued. War noticed that both of his fists were clenched so tightly that, had they not been covered by gauntlets, they would have surely bled. These recent events were unforgivable. He knew his siblings felt the same.

And they knew just as well as he that there was soon to be hell to pay.

Balance demanded it.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Merry Christmas! Hoped you like the prologue!


End file.
